"The dog proves that." "Sancho proves it," said the duke gravely.
As he spoke he paused as if suddenly arrested.

His eyes were fixed on a small Florentine mirror which hung over Fay's writing-table in the angle of the wall.

The duke's face changed, as a man's face might change, who, conscious of no enemy, feels himself stabbed from behind in the dark.
Then he came forward, and said with a firm voice: "We will now go once more into the gardens.

Lord John, you will accompany us." Lord John got heavily to his feet.
"Take Sancho with you," said Fay, holding the dog with difficulty, who was obviously excited and suspicious, its mobile nostrils working, its eyes glued to the screen.
The duke opened the glass door, and Sancho, his attention turned, rushed out into the night, barking furiously.
"You need have no further fear," said the duke to Fay, looking into her eyes.

"The assassin has certainly escaped." "No doubt," said Fay.
"Unless he is hiding behind the screen all the time," said Lord John, with his customary facetiousness.